It's become something of a tradition now every time Ivy shows up in one of Jeremy's plots, she somehow ends up on the receiving end of a soupy fate. She's already been a Souper Hero, a Souper Spy and now she's stepping into the role of Souper Chef. But what really secures this one a spot among Jeremy's more slightly unhinged ideas is the fact that she isn't starring alone this time--she's been paired with Nutmeg, a mischievous, talking squirrel hand puppet with an intense, unsettling enthusiasm for seeing Ivy absolutely covered in soup.

The plot: (if you can call it that)

Steam curls lazily through the rafters of Ivy's rustic kitchen as she stands over her prized creation, the award-winning soup that made her name. Golden broth, perfect vegetables, flawless technique and yet, she knows. One careful taste confirms it--something's missing. Not salt. Not spice. Something older. Something annoyingly mystical.

Flicking through her most ancient, aggressively stained cookbook, she finds it. A half-forgotten recipe scrawled in the margins whispered rumours of a mythical herb hidden deep in an enchanted forest, said to turn any soup into liquid perfection. With a map inked in baffling symbols and a deeply British sense of stubborn determination, Ivy sets out at dawn.

The forest is thick with shimmering light and suspiciously atmospheric shadows, every step crunching with unseen life beneath her boots. That's when she meets him--Nutmeg, a wide-eyed, hyperactive squirrel who is, quite inexplicably, a hand puppet with opinions. Loud ones. Mostly about soup. Disturbingly often about Ivy.

Guided by Nutmeg's overly enthusiastic advice, Ivy enters a hidden clearing. But instead of calmly gathering herbs like a sensible forager, the squirrel presents her with another idea entirely a "traditional ritual," he calls it. One that, for reasons never fully explained, involves Ivy testing every soup by pouring it directly over herself.

By the time the final enchanted soup is tipped, Ivy stands utterly soaked, dripping, and gently steaming in layers of every soup imaginable--a walking, slightly horrified masterpiece of culinary chaos.

And somewhere between the embarrassment, the laughter, and the undeniable realisation that she will absolutely never live this down she realises

The soup is finally perfect.